Murderer
by grand admiral chelli
Summary: Harry Potter is thrown into Azkaban after allegedly murdering his classmates, but the difference is, this time he actually did it! Find out what would drive him to this, and how he's going to deal with it once he escapes!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to him and his franchise.

Murderer

Chapter One: Noxium

The light of the crackling flames reflected in Ginny Weasley's sparkling blue eyes as she snuggled up against her boyfriend's muscular chest, her hands idle in her lap as she quietly gazed into the fireplace. Harry Potter, arm wrapped around his girlfriend's slender waist, tightened his hold as the petite redhead shifted closer to him, yawning softly. 'If this is heaven,' Harry thought contentedly, 'then kill me now.'

His emerald eyes rose from the girl in his arms to scan the room for the other two most important people on his life. He quickly located them; Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley occupied the other two scarlet armchairs across from him, and were engaged in a silent game of Wizard Chess. Harry suppressed a grin as Hermione's face lit up each time Ron decimated one of her pieces. It was a long-standing tradition between the two that the winner got to do anything they pleased with the loser, and to Hermione's delight that almost always involved some sort of close bodily contact. Once Ron had attempted to break tradition and made Hermione write a Potions paper for him. After a month of the brunette fastidiously ignoring him, Ron had gotten down on his hands and knees and sworn to never pull such a stunt again.

As if picking up on Harry's thoughts, Ron nudged his genius girlfriend and whispered, "What say we agree I win and move on to the… er… victory celebration?"

Hermione laughed and slapped his hand away. "Think again, Ronald. You've got to earn your rewards."

"Fair enough," Ron agreed, not in the least perturbed, and then with a flourish used his knight to knock over the white queen. "Checkmate, 'Mione."

She gaped at the ivory board. "How did you do that? My defense was impenetrable!"

Ron merely shrugged arrogantly, before grabbing his girlfriend, pulling her over to him, and crushing his lips to hers. Harry rolled his eyes as his friends had their little "celebration", turning his attention instead to the now-sleeping girl in his arms. She'd spent almost the entire evening up to her elbows in essays and reports waiting to be written, and Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out how she, a sixth year, had more homework than he, a seventh year with the NEWTS only a few months away, did.

The celebration soon ended as Hermione decided to take the initiative and break the kiss before they died of suffocation. Reluctantly moving back to her chair, she conjured a hairbrush from thin air and attempted to sort out her tangled locks as she studied the chessboard intently. Ron simply lounged across from her, watching as she tried to decipher his strategy for victory.

Finally, she looked up and met Ron's gaze accusingly. "How long ago could you have won?"

Ron smirked. "Twenty minutes, give or take." Hermione's gaze narrowed as she glared furiously at the redheaded prat before her. "I couldn't help myself," he hastily defended. "You look so incredibly attractive when you are concentrating so hard…"

A smile blossomed on Hermione's face, as it always did when confronted with Ron's declarations of affection. Harry couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief as Hermione grabbed the startled redhead and dragged him off to a more private area. It had happened sometime at the end of sixth year, a few weeks after he and Ginny had gotten together. The duo had been bickering continuously for almost an hour straight when Ron had finally shouted, "Why do you always think you're right about everything! When are you going to figure out that nobody likes you and finally shut up for good!"

Harry remembered the shocked, hurt look on Hermione's face as Ron's harsh words sank in. All three knew Ron hadn't meant it – hell, the boy had been in love with Hermione since practically forever – but it had hit too close to home for Hermione, and she had fled the hall in tears, much to Malfoy and the Slytherins' delight.

Ron had turned to Harry and Ginny with a stricken expression. "Why did I do that? God, I'm such an incredible prat!"

"I'll say," Ginny agreed, not in the least sympathetic towards her idiot brother.

"What do I do?" he muttered brokenly.

"Go after her and tell her how you feel," Harry suggested firmly.

"I can't do that!" Ron said in horror. "She'll hate me! It'll completely ruin our friendship! She'll never talk to me again!"

"If you don't go say something _now_, then I doubt you'll have a friendship to worry about ruining," Ginny responded pointedly.

Ron's eyes darted frantically from Harry to Ginny, but there was no mercy in their gazes, and he finally pounded his fist on the table, leapt to his feet with sudden resolve, and dashed out of the hall to make amends with his love.

They'd been together ever since, and Harry couldn't have imagined a more perfect ending for them. His and Ginny's hook up, however, hadn't been nearly so traumatic, something for which he was eternally grateful.

After Ron's not-so-subtle hint that Harry should go after Ginny on the train home at the end of fifth year, Harry had begun to spend more and more time with the spunky redhead, although his thoughts had been purely platonic at the time. Ginny, however, had had other things in mind, and needless to say that when a girl as beautiful, charming, and intelligent as Ginny Weasley turned her attentions on you, you were pretty much sunk. Thus Harry had fallen head over heels for the Weasley's only daughter, and by the middle of his sixth year was proud to call her his first "true" girlfriend, and later, his first (and hopefully only) true love.

It was now near the end April of Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, and he could safely say that life had never looked better. He had amazing friends, fantastic grades, a devoted and loving girlfriend, and the wonderful prospect of finally graduating from Hogwarts in only two months and finally joining the wizarding world as a fully trained wizard. There was only one thing that could spoil his mood, and unfortunately for Harry, that thing was growing incredibly powerful, causing so much havoc and destruction that the Ministry of Magic had declared the wizarding world officially at war against Lord Voldemort and his dark forces.

After breaking out Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eaters from Azkaban, where Harry had helped put them at the end of his fifth year, Voldemort set his sights on recruiting, and by the end of Harry's sixth year had a massive army of dark creatures that he set loose upon Britain. Vampires, giants, even werewolves swept across the countryside, snatching children from their beds, burning down villages, and killing every person that got in their way. Despite Headmaster Dumbledore's efforts to keep Harry as far from the fighting as possible, Harry still ended up dueling for his life by the end of the year against overwhelming numbers of Death Eaters, with only his unconquerable luck allowing him to survive.

Following Harry's near death experience, Dumbledore had finally cracked down on Harry and forbid him to leave school grounds, on pain of expulsion of both he and his friends. For Dumbledore was well aware that if someone outside Hogwarts were in trouble, Harry would risk his own expulsion to help them, but he would never do that to his friends as well. An underhanded trick, perhaps, but it succeeded in keeping Harry away from the battlefront for most of his seventh year, something which infuriated Harry to no end.

The way Harry saw it, the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix were powerful, but horribly understaffed, and with more people joining Voldemort every day, they needed all the help they could get. What was more, Dumbledore had added an extra course to the Hogwarts syllabus at the start of Harry's sixth year called Magical and Muggle Offensive Techniques (MAMOT) that taught students not to defend themselves, like in DADA, but how to actually attack their opponents, and even kill them should the situation call for it.

Needless to say, as Harry became more and more powerful, his need to _do_ something to help the war effort grew as well, but Dumbledore managed to prevent Harry from leaving the school by explaining that should Death Eaters attack, the teachers themselves could not hope to defend the entire school. Dumbledore needed Harry around to help out if and when Voldemort finally decided to burn Hogwarts to the ground, and Harry couldn't refuse his mentor; the fact that this kept Harry out of harm's way was just a convenient coincidence.

"Harry?"

Harry was jolted out of his memories at the sound of Ginny's sleepy voice. "What is it?" he asked quietly, gently brushing her auburn locks off of her face.

"You looked awfully deep in thought," she replied, using his chest as an aid in pushing herself upright. Leaning forward and staring curiously into his eyes, she asked impishly, "You weren't thinking about _me_, were you?"

"Course not," Harry said with a grin. "Why would I think about _you_? It's not like you're important or anything."

Ginny pouted. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it's so," Harry laughed, and she looked so cute in her mock-anger that he couldn't help but kiss her on the cheek. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd probably keel over and die," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "You'd be so busy moping over me that you'd forget to eat and die of starvation."

"I'm not nearly as helpless as you think," Harry warned her. "Be careful, or I might break up with you just to prove I'm self sufficient."

"You wouldn't dare," Ginny countered. "You couldn't."

"Sure I could," Harry disagreed.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, giving him a confident look. "Then prove it. Dump me."

Harry opened his mouth to do exactly that, but as always when it came to Ginny, he found himself unable to do anything that might hurt her, even if it was all just make believe.

Ginny smirked triumphantly. "Told you so. You are my unwitting slave, and you couldn't change it even if you wanted to."

"I'm no one's property," Harry argued, more out of principle than actually meaning it.

"Shut up and kiss me."

Harry shut up and kissed her.

Ginny woke around midnight to the sound of hysterical screaming coming from the Gryffindor Boy's Dormitories. Leaping out of bed and pulling on her nightdress, Ginny grabbed her wand and sprinted towards the Boy's Dorm, heart pounding as she prayed fervently that the screaming was not coming from Harry's room.

As she hurtled up the spiral staircase, dodging curious half-asleep teens, her heart nearly stopped when she realized that the screaming _was_ coming from Harry's room. The only good thing was that the screaming was distinctly feminine, which meant that it couldn't possibly be Harry… unless he was somehow unable to scream. If he was dead… Ginny forcibly pushed the thought from her mind. Harry wasn't dead; it was as simple as that. She rounded the corner and shot into the room.

Well, one thing was for certain; Harry certainly wasn't dead. His roommates, however, were another story.

Parvati Patil stood in the doorway screaming at the top of her lungs as she gazed in horror at the scene she'd stumbled upon not a minute ago. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, stood stock-still in the center of the room, hand clenching and unclenching around the handle of a blood-slicked knife. The motionless, blood-soaked bodies of Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan lay in a crumpled heap at his feet.

"Harry…" Ginny gasped, unable to believe what she was seeing. How could he… why would he…

Harry looked up at her with pleading green eyes, as if he were lost in a world of madness and she were his only lifeline. "Ginny… please…"

Ginny paused at the raw emotion in her boyfriend's eyes, and she knew in that moment that no matter what Harry did, short of becoming the next Dark Lord, she would support him fully. Rushing forward, she enveloped the shaking young man in a fierce hug, and gave a sigh of relief when he immediately returned it.

"I'm so sorry… so sorry… I didn't mean to… it wasn't supposed to come to this…" Harry sobbed brokenly, clutching onto Ginny as if she were the only thing holding him back from oblivion.

By this time Parvati's terrified screams had woken the rest of the tower, and Ron and Hermione appeared at the door, their hair somewhat disheveled, and clearly neither had been doing anything that resembled sleeping.

Ron skidded to a halt with a gasp as he and Hermione took in the bloody scene. Neville Longbottom: dead. Seamus Finnigan: dead. Dean Thomas: dead. Harry Potter: standing in the middle of the room, a knife in his blood-soaked hand, crying horrified apologies into Ginny Weasley's shoulder.

"Somebody get Professor McGonagall," Hermione ordered softly, eyes never straying from Ginny and Harry. As Head Girl, it was her job to be firm in times of crisis. "Tell her there's been a murder in Gryffindor Tower, and the murderer appears to be…" She broke off into hysterical sobs and Ron immediately enveloped her in his arms.

"Harry Potter," Ron finished blankly, unable to believe what he was seeing. "Move!" The nearest students scrambled off to deliver the message.

Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore burst into the room a minute later, and their eyes immediately fell to Harry and the knife he still carried. Professor McGonagall's eyes widened in horror, and Dumbledore strode forward so quickly Ginny squeaked and was jolted out of Harry arms.

"Mister Potter," Dumbledore began gravely, looking deeply into the teary eyes of his most promising and beloved student. "Please tell me exactly what happened."

"He killed them, that's what!" Parvati shrieked. "I came in to see Dean and I saw him standing there, covered in blood! Murderer!"

"That will be all, Miss Patil," Dumbledore said firmly, and Parvati fell silent. He turned back to Harry. "Harry," he said gently. "What happened? Who did this?"

"I did," Harry replied so softly Dumbledore swore he misheard.

"What?"

"I killed them," Harry repeated more strongly, and every person in the room gaped incredulously. They had expected something along the lines of him being framed for their murder, or under the Imperious or being possessed… but this?

"Please be very sure of what you are telling me," Dumbledore said, as if wishing Harry would deny something he so firmly believed he did.

"I killed them," Harry repeated, staring at Ginny for some unknown reason. "I had to."

"You were forced to?" Dumbledore probed, leaning closer.

Harry eyes flicked very briefly to Ginny's, before responding clearly, "I was not forced to. It was of my own volition. Neville, Dean, and Seamus begged me to kill them, and so I did."

Silence blanketed the room as Harry's words sank in.

"I will ask you one more time," Dumbledore said finally, tiredly, and he looked older than Harry had ever seen him. "If you tell me you didn't do it, or that you were forced to, Harry, then you will walk free, and whoever orchestrated this will be caught. I swear it."

"I killed them, and I would do it again," Harry repeated with finality.

Professor McGonagall seemed speechless. "Mister Potter, you realize that you will be sent to Azkaban for life for this crime."

"I know," was the only reply she got.

Dumbledore, the sparkle gone in his aged eyes, spoke softly, in a voice full of disappointment. "Then by the authority vested in me as a leading member of the Wizengamot, I hereby place Harry James Potter under arrest, effective until such time as a permanent decision can be reached through a full trial. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

He was giving Harry a way out. If Harry should choose to divulge the true reason behind his actions, he could do so during the trial, and everything would be set straight, unlike Sirius, who had never been allowed a trial. But Harry's mouth was firmly closed, unwilling to give his reasons for the murder anymore than he would deny committing the crime.

Dumbledore's mouth was set in a grim line. "So be it. Minerva, kindly strip Potter of his wand, murder tool, and any other incriminating objects, and transport him to the Ministry for his trial. As for the rest of you," he continued, gazing at the students assembled before him. "You will stay away from the scene of the crime, on penalty of expulsion. You will spread no rumors about the events occurring tonight, on the same penalty, and for those of you more… closely associated with Mister Potter… you will be extended the invitation to attend his trial two days hence. Good evening."

Dumbledore turned and moved slowly out of the room, looking wearier than anyone had ever seen him. McGonagall followed, Harry walking sedately behind, hands tied firmly in the small of his back, eyes steadily watching the floor.

Behind them, Ginny could no longer keep her silence. "What are you _doing_? This is _Harry Potter_! He would never do anything without good reason! You can't arrest him!"

"Silence, Miss Weasley," McGonagall snapped, nostrils flaring. It was the only sign that showed how truly disturbed she was by the evening's events. "I understand your feelings, but Potter himself agrees he is the murderer. I hardly think you can dispute that."

"He's just trying to protect you!" Ginny cried desperately as the boy she loved was slowly being taken away from her. "He would never hurt anyone without good cause! You know that!"

"Ginny, stop."

Everyone froze as they heard Harry's quiet yet commanding voice. There was something about Harry Potter that commanded attention and respect, even if he was covered in blood and being carted off to Azkaban as a murderer.

"Harry?" Ginny demanded hysterically. "Tell them it isn't true. If you love me, then tell them you didn't do it, damn it!"

"But I did," Harry replied gently, gazing into his love's eyes. "I'm sorry, but to say otherwise would be a lie."

Across the room, Ron gave a strangled gasp and then flew across the room to deliver a jarring blow to Harry's jaw. "Murderer!" he screamed, even as McGonagall pulled him off a passive Harry and shoved him away. "How could you? Dean, Neville, and Seamus, Harry!"

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated.

"Save it," Ron spat. "I don't want to hear apologies from filthy murderers. You're no better than the Death Eaters! You probably are one, for all I know! I thought you were my friend!"

"Leave him alone, Ron," Hermione said quietly, pulling the snarling redhead away from Harry.

"That is quite enough," McGonagall said firmly. "Come, Potter, or I shall stun you and levitate you. Either way, you are going to the Ministry."

Harry complied without hesitation, and McGonagall led him out of the room. Just like that. No screaming, no pleading, no evil "You'll be sorry when I have my revenge" speeches. It was as if the fire had gone out of the Boy-Who-Lived, and that thought scared Ginny more than him being a murderer did. Just as she lost all hope, Harry turned momentarily, and whispered soft enough so that only she could hear, "Everything is not as it seems."

Ginny could only stare blankly as his dark head disappeared out the door, contemplating what the words could possibly mean. One thing she knew for sure, though, was that there was something going on here beyond her understanding, and she would be dead before she deserted Harry in his hour of need, even if he seemed to want everyone to think he was a murderer. And even if he was, she would support him nonetheless, because she loved him, and that was the kind of fool thing people in love did.

"This court is now called to order. This case is concerning the alleged murder of Mister Dean Thomas, Mister Seamus Finnigan, and Mister Neville Longbottom. Interrogators: Minister of Magic Amelia Bones, John Lee Watson…"

Percy Weasley's voice droned on and on, meaningless drivel in Harry's mind as he inhaled sharply, his attention more focused on the four Dementors surrounding him than the actual trial. The one thing he did note was that Amelia Bones, the new Minister after Fudge was kicked out of office, was in charge of the trial. Perhaps with her he'd get a more lenient sentence. Glancing at the towering, hooded figures surrounding him, however, Harry didn't think having a fair trial would make much of a difference. Not that he deserved a fair trial anyway.

"As per Albus Dumbledore's request," Minister Bones announced. "We shall be administering Veritaserum to Potter. Moody, if you please."

Alastor Moody hobbled forward, clutching a vial of clear liquid in his gnarled hands. Tilting Harry's head back none-too-gently, he poured the searing liquid down his throat, and it was all Harry could do to swallow it without choking.

"Mister Potter," Madam Bones began serenely. "You are being charged with the murders of Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom, on the twenty fourth of April, 1997. I will cut straight to the chase. Did you or did you not murder these young men?"

"I did," Harry replied emotionlessly.

"Why?"

"Because they asked me to."

Shocked murmurs broke through the silence as the members of the Wizengamot expressed their incredulity. Why would three young men beg a fourth to kill them? Did Potter torture them until they begged for release?

"Why did they ask you to?"

"Because they were dying, and wanted the pain to end."

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut as tears threatened to flow, Ron was clenching and unclenching his fists furiously, and Molly Weasley seemed about to faint. Hermione, interestingly enough, had a look on her face as if she'd just discovered something everyone else had missed.

"Hermione?" Ginny whispered.

"Harry…" Hermione whispered in awe. "He wants to go to Azkaban. He's purposely incriminating himself."

"Why would he do that?" Ginny demanded. "No one _wants_ to go to Azkaban."

"True," Hermione agreed. "The only reason why he'd want to go to Azkaban is because he's being blackmailed or threatened in some way, or… he actually committed the murder and wants to atone for his sins."

"Harry didn't kill anyone," Ginny said stubbornly.

"Ginny," Hermione began wearily. "He confessed to exactly that under Veritaserum. Veritaserum doesn't lie. He may not have wanted to, or may have been forced into it, but the fact is that Harry _did_ kill them."

"Then he was being forced into it," Ginny decided.

"They administered all the tests on him before the trial, Gin," Hermione told her sadly. "They checked for everything – Imperius curse, mind-controlling potions, suggestion potions… they all came out negative. Ginny, he _chose_ to kill them, and now he's going to pay the price."

Hermione turned away with a pointed glance at Ginny.

"So be it," Madam Bones declared with finality. "Harry James Potter, you are hereby sentenced, for the murder of Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom, to a life sentence in Azkaban. Guards, take him away."

Ginny felt her heart slowly breaking as Harry slowly stood, gazing dispassionately around the silent chamber, before turning to stare directly at her. Ginny forced a reassuring smile, and Harry's demeanor softened somewhat as the Dementors herded him out the door.

"Well, that's that," Madam Bones announced. "Case closed. This court is adjourned."

Ginny sat there, shell shocked, as the court dissolved and the wizards and witches headed out of the room, muttering quietly among themselves about the tragedy of Harry's fall to darkness. Over by the south wall Ron stood consoling Hermione as she sobbed hysterically into his shoulder. It seemed only Ginny believed there was something deeper going on here than Harry admitted to. Maybe that was because she was in love with him.

Then she remembered the look Harry had given her, and she jumped from her seat and raced off down the corridor towards to catch up to Harry before they packed him off to Azkaban. She couldn't live without knowing whether or not he was truly a murderer. She finally caught up with them just as they were moving towards the black car that would take Harry to the coast, where he would then be shipped across to Azkaban.

"Harry!" Ginny yelled as Harry made to step into the car, face still painfully passive. "Wait!"

Harry paused, before straightening and turning to face his girlfriend. One of the Dementors hissed something Ginny couldn't hear, but Harry snapped something under his breath, and it surprisingly backed down.

"What?"

"Tell me what happened," Ginny pleaded. "Please! I need to know who murdered Dean, Seamus and Neville!"

"I did," Harry said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

"Like hell you did," Ginny snapped.

"I did," Harry repeated. "I murdered them in cold blood, Gin, and that's never going to change."

"Then _why_?" Ginny demanded.

"I can't tell you," Harry said softly.

"Why not?"

"I can't tell you," Harry repeated.

Ginny growled in frustration. "I don't know what you're trying to pull, Harry Potter, but you won't get away with it. Fine. You murdered Dean, Seamus, and Neville. Fine. You did it of your own volition, and they begged you to do it. Fine."

Harry said nothing.

"But I won't believe that you did it without a reason," Ginny continued. "And I will find out that reason, Harry, whether you like it or not. And when I do, I'm going to break you out of Azkaban and force you to tell the truth."

"Why can't you just believe I'm a murderer and hate me like everyone else?" Harry suddenly shouted, causing Ginny to jerk back in surprise.

"Because I love you," Ginny said firmly. "And I will never hate you, no matter what. Stop talking to you and curse you on sight, maybe, but never hate you."

"Forget about me, Gin," Harry begged. "Move on with your life."

"No chance in hell, Harry," Ginny informed him. "I'm going to wait for you, even if it takes a lifetime."

A smile threatened to surface on Harry's face, but Harry suppressed it immediately. "Goodbye."

"For now," Ginny said, kissing him on the cheek. "I love you."

"I…" Harry trailed off.

"I know."

.:.

To be continued…


	2. Memoria

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to him and his franchise.

Murderer

Chapter Two: Memoria

Harry stared longingly out the dark tinted window at Ginny's determined face as the car slowly pulled away. The Dementors weren't with him any longer; the magical handcuffs around Harry's wrists were more than enough to keep the seventeen-year-old in check. At least that was one good thing; Azkaban was guarded by Aurors now instead of Dementors, as the majority of the Dementors had defected to the Dark Side years ago. Harry wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life reliving his worst memories over and over… although he probably would anyway, Dementors or not.

It broke Harry's heart to see Ginny so crushed, but it was necessary. It just went to show how amazing Ginny was – she remained loyal even when he told her to her face that he was a murderer. God, he loved her. And God, he would miss her once he was behind bars.

All too soon the Ministry car pulled up to the desolate, abandoned wharf where Charon the boatman transported prisoners back and forth from Azkaban, in his rundown rowboat "Styx". Heavy mythological references there, but all agreed it was morbidly appropriate.

"Harry Potter?" Charon rasped, leaning close in interest as Harry was pulled from the car. "Never thought I'd be seeing YOU here."

"Silence, old man," one of the two Aurors accompanying Harry snapped. "Get your rowboat ready; we're pushing off in five minutes."

Charon gave Harry a leery grin and shuffled away to prepare his boat. The two Aurors stepped away from Harry and cracked their knuckles, dangerous glints in their dark eyes.

'And so it begins,' Harry thought in resignation as the first punch landed, driving him to his knees. He really should have seen this coming; in the world's eyes he was now a dangerous criminal, and he was therefore being treated like one: with resentment, hatred, and disgust.

Five minutes later Charon returned, and the Aurors dragged Harry's aching body to the boat, tossing him in carelessly, and then settling down across from him. Then Charon took the paddle in hand and the long, cold, miserable journey to Azkaban began.

Twenty soaking-wet minutes later, Azkaban prison loomed into sight, its high black walls sleek and foreboding, and the narrow windows few and far between. A feeling of dread grew in Harry, and for the first time he seriously considered giving in and telling the Aurors the truth. But then Ginny's face flashed through his mind, and then Ron and Hermione's, and Harry knew he couldn't cave in, no matter what happened.

Marching forward with new resolve, Harry passed fearlessly through the massive spiked iron gates, down the endless, dim corridors, and into the dirty, cramped cell that would be his home until the day he died.

The cell door slammed shut behind him, and Harry watched emotionlessly as the Aurors walked off down the hall, chatting and laughing amiably. Leaving Harry all alone, in the middle of the most feared prison on Earth, with only Dark and mentally unstable wizards for company. Slumping down in the corner, Harry closed his eyes and settled down for a lifetime of boredom.

Time passed in a blur. Harry watched the tiny yellow sun rise and set each day in his inch wide window slit, recording the passing days with scratch marks on the walls. His life was one of endless monotony, punctuated with rounds of physical and mental abuse, courtesy of the Azkaban Aurors.

Then one day, almost two months later, Harry lay brooding in his cell about the Graduation he should be attending right now, when a voice jolted him from his reverie.

"When did you get here?"

The voice was low and raspy, and belonged to an old man in the cell across from his. Harry sighed in disappointment when it dawned on him that the man must surely be insane, because he had been in that cell long before Harry had arrived at Azkaban.

"Two months ago. Didn't you notice?" Harry was mildly displeased to find his voice was just as raspy as the old man's was.

"I was busy," the man said noncommittally, crawling forward to peer out at Harry through pale blue eyes.

"Sure you were," Harry agreed, turning back to staring out the window. "Because there are so many interesting things to do in Azkaban."

"Say," the man said, ignoring Harry's sarcasm entirely. "You're Harry Potter."

"Very observant," Harry muttered.

"You're one of the good guys," the man persisted.

Harry groaned and reluctantly turned to face the irritating old man who had suddenly decided to talk to him after two months of silence. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Someone no one cares about."

"A Death Eater, then?"

The man gave a sickly laugh. "I'm as Light as they come, boy. I was kicked in here for GTB."

"GTB?"

"Grand Theft Broomstick. But then the war started when some lunatic named Voldemort rose to power, and the Ministry chucked so many people in here they lost track of who was who. By the time the war was over, they figured that everyone in here must be a Death Eater, so they tossed out all the old records and started from new, giving everyone already in Azkaban an automatic life sentence."

"That's ridiculous!"

"That's the Ministry."

"Fair enough," Harry conceded. "So you've been in here ever since? I'm sorry. The bumbling fools at the Ministry strike again."

The man cackled. "You're a good kid, Potter. You've earned the right to know my name. It's Adam Smith. Pleased to meet you."

"And you," Harry agreed. Perhaps the crazy old coot would help him stave off the impending boredom.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Finally, Smith spoke up again.

"So what's your story?"

"My story?"

"Why are you in here? What did you do?"

Harry gave a bitter laugh. "It's a long story."

Smith raised a wrinkled brow. "We've got the rest of our lives."

Harry couldn't help but grin. "Fine. It all started two months ago, the evening of my arrest…"

The embers in the fire were dim, and the common room was empty save for Ginny and Harry, who were still curled up contentedly by the fireplace. Hermione and Ron had long ago disappeared off up the girl's staircase, and Harry could only guess what they were now up to.

Ginny yawned widely, and Harry realized it was past midnight. Kissing his half-asleep girlfriend on the forehead, Harry gently lifted the girl into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her dormitory. Placing her on the scarlet bedspread, he pulled off her shoes and gently tucked her in. Harry kissed her forehead once more, before turning and heading off to his own dormitory for some much needed sleep.

Sneaking in so as not to disturb his roommates, Harry quietly shut the door behind him and turned… to discover Lucius Malfoy standing in the middle of the room. Dean, Seamus, and Neville stood behind Malfoy, eyes curiously blank. Harry hadn't survived his many encounters with Voldemort by not knowing what that mindless expression meant.

Slowly drawing his wand, Harry said quietly, "Take it off, Malfoy."

Lucius Malfoy arched a perfect blond brow and gave him the superior smirk he knew Harry despised. "Take what off, Potter? My clothing? My wife wouldn't appreciate that too much."

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "The Imperius curse you placed on my friends, Malfoy. Take it off NOW, and I may go easy on you."

Malfoy just shook his head with a harsh laugh. "Even if I wanted to, Potter, I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because the spell affecting your friends is not the Imperius curse. It is a potion."

"What?"

"A poison, actually, devised by your dear friend Professor Snape just last night."

Harry glared at the evil man. "That's nonsense." Snape would never supply the Dark Lord with poison of any sort – he was on the Light side, after all.

"It's not."

"Then give them the antidote, and I'll go easy on you," Harry improvised.

"That's the beauty of it, isn't it?" Malfoy gloated. "You see, Professor Snape only completed the poison last night, and hasn't even started working on the antidote yet. I stole it from his lab without his knowledge, and then administered it to your darling little friends while they were innocently sleeping."

Harry knew when he was beat. "Fine, Malfoy. What do you want?"

Malfoy smirked winningly. "So glad you're finally making sense, Potter. Here's how this is going to work. The poison I have given your friends allows me to control their minds, as you have already surmised, but also slowly poisons their bodies, as poisons are wont to do."

"What do you mean, 'poison their bodies?'"

Malfoy grinned maliciously. "In one hour they will be dead. Not to mention having suffered excruciatingly through most of the ordeal. Snape used a powerful pain poison as the base, you know."

Harry suppressed an impatient outburst. "Let me repeat myself. What do you want?"

"What I want, Potter, is very simple. So simple even you can't possibly mess it up. You see, I want Thomas, Finnigan, and Longbottom, dead."

"So kill them," Harry snapped. "Or let your wonderful poison do its work. What does this have to do with me?"

"I'm not the one who's going to kill them, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "You are."

Harry gaped at the blond aristocrat. "You're insane."

"Perhaps," Malfoy agreed. "But that does not change a thing. This is what I propose, Mister Potter, and I suggest you listen well, because I will not repeat myself."

"There is no way I'll do anything you propose," Harry snarled. "And there's no way I'll let you get away with this either. As soon as I get out of here, I'm going straight to Snape and wringing an antidote out of him, by force if necessary, and all your plans will have been for nothing."

Malfoy gave him a knowing smirk. "Things aren't going to work quite like that, Potter. Now, listen carefully to me, and once I'm done, you can do whatever you like. If you want, you can go to Snape like you said, or even Dumbledore, and I won't lift a finger to stop you."

"I don't get it. What's the catch?"

"The catch, Potter, is that by the time you've heard it, all of it, you are going to do everything I say, because you are going to have no choice in the matter."

"Blackmail?" Harry scoffed. "There's no way I'd submit to that, Malfoy."

"Oh, I know that, Potter, how well I know. That is why I want you to hear me out, and decide from there."

"And if I don't?"

Malfoy gave him a sadistic grin. "Then I kill you, your friends, and every child in Gryffindor tower."

Harry didn't doubt the man's competence. "Fine," he snapped. "You've got my attention. But whatever it is, Malfoy, it won't work."

Malfoy just gave Harry a condescending smirk. "This time the Dark Lord has the upper hand, Potter, and there is nothing you can do about it. Now, listen closely, and try not to interrupt till I'm done."

Gesturing towards Harry's bed, Malfoy watched in satisfaction as the three poisoned boys lumbered across the room at his command and sprawled upon the feather mattress. What made him even more satisfied, however, was the pained look on Harry's face as he watched his longtime friends reduced to mindless drones.

"Here's how its going to work, Potter," Malfoy began. "As I said, your friends are poisoned. There is no cure. They will die in an hour, and half an hour from now the poison will start to really take effect. Believe me, Potter, it won't be pretty. Imagine bones dislocating themselves, internal organs disintegrating, flesh melting… you won't want to be around when it happens."

Harry said nothing. He figured it would be best to hear what Malfoy had to say before he made his move and defeated him once and for all.

"And now we come to the reason behind this elaborate set up," Malfoy continued. "As you probably noticed, the Dark Lord is having considerable trouble killing you, and this has prompted him to find a new path to get you out of the way. It was in fact Peter Pettigrew who suggested that instead of killing you, we instead put you someplace where you will not be of either help or hindrance – namely, Azkaban. Azkaban is guarded by the few Dementors who remain loyal to the Ministry – although they only do so because they couldn't care less who wins the war – so it would be the ideal place to keep you."

"You can't just put people in Azkaban," Harry reminded him. "You have to be charged with something."

"And they say you are a slow learner," Malfoy mocked. "That is indeed an obstacle we faced, which led us to the current situation. You see, Potter, the Dark Lord believes that while you are loyal to your friends, you cannot bear to see them in pain, and will do everything in your power to help them. This is why I have infiltrated your tower and given Snape's new poison to these fool Gryffindors – to force you to make a choice."

"What choice?"

"Whether or not you will set aside your values and liberate them from the pain they are about to undergo."

Harry was beginning to understand. "You think I'll murder my friends to save them the pain of a slow, torturous death. Then the teachers can show up, name me a murderer, and cart me off to Azkaban."

"That's the general idea," Malfoy agreed.

"You forgot one thing," Harry snapped.

Malfoy looked as if he highly doubted such a thing were possible. "What might that be?"

"What if I don't kill them?" Harry demanded. "Then when the teachers show up, they can't possibly incriminate me, and it'll have all been for nothing."

Malfoy just laughed. "Hardly, Potter. We have that base covered as well. Although after hearing the agony your friends are going through, I don't believe it will even be an option. Nevertheless… oh, I do dislike this part, it's so barbaric…"

"What?"

"Blackmail," Malfoy said reluctantly. "Alas, it is necessary. Here is the 'low down', so to speak. The reason why you will kill your classmates is because they will beg you to kill them – all on their own, nothing to do with me, and you will not be able to find it in your heart to watch their suffering. The reason why you will go to Azkaban and not breath a word of this plot to anyone is because if you do, the Dark Lord will personally hunt down and destroy the Weasleys and the Granger family."

Harry snorted. "That's ridiculous. If Voldemort could do that, he'd have done so already."

"True," Malfoy agreed. "Perhaps he cannot now, but in five years? Ten? But if you follow the plan, Potter, the Dark Lord will personally guarantee their safety, not counting any harm they inflict upon themselves, of course."

Harry didn't know what to say. The Weasleys and Grangers lives' for Neville, Seamus, and Dean. Either way, he lost people close to him. Yet it seemed Neville, Seamus, and Dean were doomed to death anyway. It was the ultimate Catch 22 – he couldn't save both, but if he surrendered his future to a lifetime in Azkaban, he could save one. His life for his friends. Which was more precious to him? It wasn't even a question. Harry had known that answer for a long time.

"So…" Harry stalled for time. "You are promising Voldemort and his Death Eaters will not lay a finger on the Weasleys and the Grangers, if, and only if, I agree to this insane plan, murder my friends, and go to Azkaban for the rest of my life."

"Yes," Malfoy agreed.

"The problem with that," Harry said, "is that as soon as I'm in Azkaban, there'll be no way for me to get out, and therefore no way of knowing if you kept your promise. For all I know, you'll murder them the next day."

Malfoy was clearly getting annoyed. "You know, I could just kill you now, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Unlikely, Malfoy. I can take care of myself, and besides, only Voldemort can kill me entirely, you know that. Wouldn't want me coming back as some sort of zombie and exacting my revenge, now would you?"

Malfoy sighed. "Fine. What I am offering is a Wizard's Oath, Potter. I believe they are on the sixth year syllabus. I will make you an oath, speaking for the Dark Lord as well, and all the Death Eaters he commands, that we will not intentionally harm any Weasley or Granger so long as you are in Azkaban prison and out of our way. Should you somehow leave the prison, or tell someone in a position of authority the truth of the matter, the oath will be null and void, and we will take great pleasure in personally torturing and killing every one of them. Should we violate the oath… well, we will not be around for you to exact revenge upon. Interpret that as you wish."

It meant they would die if they broke the oath. _What should he do? Time, he needed more time to think_.

"What I don't get," Harry said, "is why you don't just knock me out, tie me up, bring me to your master, and have him kill me in cold blood. Your problem is that you always give me a chance to fight back, and clearly I couldn't do that tied up. Why go through all this trouble when the solution is so simple?"

This was clearly a sore point for Malfoy. "Do you know how I got into Hogwarts in the first place, Potter? You have to be invited in, you know."

Harry blinked in surprise. "I didn't know that."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Apparently. All students receive their yearly letters, which serve as invitations, teachers are invited personally by Dumbledore, and Dumbledore of course is Headmaster, which gives him an automatic invitation."

"Then who invited you in?" Harry asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Draco, naturally," Malfoy drawled. "The boy does have some uses. The problem with the magic of Hogwarts is just as it can be picky about who it lets in, it can also be choosy about who it lets out. In this case, you. That fool Dumbledore has twisted the magic of Hogwarts so that you can only leave the grounds willingly. That means no tying you up, no knocking you out… which is how we arrived at our current plan."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OH GOD! IT HURTS!" Dean suddenly screamed in agony, clutching his abdomen as he abruptly regained control of his body and fell to the floor, coughing up blood. Seamus and Neville were not far behind him. It was impossible to tell which boy was in more pain, but it was suddenly crystal clear to Harry what Malfoy meant when he'd said Harry would murder the boys to save them from the pain.

Harry was out of time, and both he and Malfoy knew it.

"So, Potter? What will it be?" Malfoy said. "Will you save your friends from their pain, go to Azkaban like a good boy and save your best friends' lives? Or will you let these boys suffer unbearable pain, agony, and death, and sign the death sentence for all those you hold dear? Which is it?"

A thought occurred to him – why wasn't anyone hearing the boys' screaming? It must have woken up half the school by now. Easy answer – silencing charms were one of the most basic spells to learn in a wartime situation, and were used even more liberally than the stunning spell. And by Malfoy's complete ease with letting Harry pace around as he considered his options, it was pretty clear the doors and windows were magically barred. So much for that.

Harry swallowed back a sob. What other choice did he have? He felt Malfoy press a knife into his right hand.

"I… CAN'T… STAND… IT…" Seamus screamed, raking bloody fingers down Harry's legs, seeking salvation from his agony.

Neville was the only one of the three still lucid enough to realize Harry was in the room with them, holding the object that could end it all for them.

"Harry… please…" Neville pleaded between screams of anguish. "Kill… me… stop… pain… can't… AHHHHHH!"

Malfoy was somewhere behind him, whispering in his ear. "Twenty minutes left, Potter. In thirty seconds, their bones start to crack. Two minutes: their eyes liquidate. Five minutes: their digestive organs are completely dissolved. Six minutes: the stomach acid is sweeping through their bodies, eating away at their other tissues."

"You win," Harry whispered. It was the hardest thing he'd ever said in his life. But again, what other choice did he have?

_You always have a choice. _

Wise words. But his friends were dying, his life was flashing before his eyes, and Harry didn't want to think anymore – didn't want to be the hero, to save the day – because he had failed, and his friends were going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was only one thing left he could do to ease their passing.

"You win," he repeated. "I'll go through with it, Malfoy. You win. Just leave. I… I want to be alone."

Malfoy smirked triumphantly. "I shall inform the Dark Lord. As I doubt you can pull off a killing curse, you will find slashing the jugular is the easiest way to get the job done. Try not to mess up, or you'll only be hurting them more. Good evening."

He was gone in a flash of silver smoke. Harry had never hated anyone in his life – even Voldemort – as much as he hated Malfoy right at that instant.

"Harry… make it stop…" Neville pleaded once more, eyes glazing over as they began to liquefy, and Harry had to look away to stop himself from being sick. There was nothing for it.

Steeling himself, both physically and mentally, Harry forcibly pushed all emotions to the back of his mind and raised his knife. The last thing he clearly remembered was the grateful look on Neville's face as Harry drove the knife towards his exposed neck.

Adam smith gave a low whistle as Harry finished his tale.

"I never thought I'd say this, kid, but your life may suck even more than mine does."

Harry smiled bitterly. "Welcome to my world. I guess I shouldn't be surprised it happened; Voldemort's evil plans had to succeed at least once – law of averages and all – but I just can't help wishing one of his other evil plots worked instead of this one."

"Chucking a teenager in Azkaban is certainly a tough plan to execute," Smith noted. "I'm surprised they managed to pull it off."

"Yeah, well, one thing Voldemort does not lack is cunning," Harry sighed. "Can we stop talking about the past now? It's making me depressed."

Smith laughed. "Sure, kid. Me, I don't mind the past. What else have you got to think about in Azkaban?"

Harry brightened. "Well, you could help me try to find a way out of this mess. Now that I'm not surrounded by dying friends and evil Death Eaters, I can think a lot more clearly. Where should I go from here?"

"Well, you sure aren't going far when you're stuck in a cell," Smith pointed out. "Since that clearly ain't an option, let's consider the situation, shall we?"

"Sure," Harry agreed.

"Alright," Smith said, rubbing his hands eagerly as he began to synthesize information. "So the first step is to get you out of Azkaban. You can't tell the Aurors the truth – not that they'd believe you – because it'd violate the Oath. From what I gathered, the only outside support you have is in your girlfriend, who is bound and determined to support you and have faith in you even though she knows it's hopeless."

"Her name's Ginny," Harry supplied. "And yes, I do think she's the only one who didn't accept the situation at face value. Although I'm surprised Hermione didn't suspect anything."

"Hermione?"

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Friend of mine. Brilliant witch. Genius, more like. But if she's on my side, she certainly gave no indication of it. So all we have is Ginny, and as much as I'd like to hope she can free me, there really isn't that much one witch can do against the entire Ministry."

"Oh! Oh! I've got an idea!" Smith exclaimed eagerly. "What if she became Minister for Magic? Then she could free us in an instant!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Aside from the fact that Ginny has no interest in politics, we couldn't even explain the plan to her if we wanted to. No post going in or out of Azkaban, remember?"

Smith seemed to deflate. "Right. I'm getting old, kid. Mind isn't what it used to be. Twenty seven years in prison can do that to you."

"I can imagine," Harry agreed. "So… what you're saying is that there's no possible way out of this death trap?"

Smith shrugged his shoulders reluctantly. "I've got nothing, kid. If I knew a way out, I'd have been gone years ago. Only man that ever escaped was that Sirius Black character, although it beats me how he did it."

"He was an animagus," Harry said absently. "Turned into a dog, and slipped through the bars when the Dementors brought him food. But I'm no animagus, and unless you are, or know how to become one… we're pretty much screwed."

"Well," Smith offered. "At least we'll have each other for company, kid."

"There could be worse things," Harry admitted. "I just never thought I'd be spending eternity with an old broomstick thief who takes two month long naps."

"Don't knock it till you try it," Smith defended. "They pass the time nicely."

"I'm sure," Harry agreed. "So, you got any interesting stories?"

"Enough to last a lifetime?" Smith laughed. "Not hardly."

"Then I'll start," Harry volunteered. "This story is back in my first year at Hogwarts, when Dumbledore agreed to keep the Philosopher's Stone in the third floor corridor, guarded by a giant, three-headed dog named Fluffy…"

To be continued…


End file.
